Post Nine One One
by Le Dark Wolf
Summary: It is the dawn of twenty-first century. The threat of tyrannical governments residing within the West is a thing of the past. Or at least seems to be. Explore our world, through the eyes of a CIA Agent. Inspired by 1984.
1. Chapter 1

Because a few years after 1984 is not too late…….

The black curtains slides opens, as the automatic machines from opposite ends of the window shifts. Slowly, a soft brazened white light flows into the dark living room. With automatic timing, the television turns on; flickering to a news channel all by its own accord. Traveling with endless efficiency, the morning light softly touches the body of a half-nude man upon a black sofa. Its soft warm touch caresses his chest, similar to that of a lover which had left him so long ago. Dark piercing blue eyes suddenly snaps wide open as the man awakens.

_ "Military leaders today have authorized the bombing of Southern Iraq in a…"_

If it wasn't for the television blaring away the rhetoric of war politics and the cursed light, this blue eyed demon would have still been asleep. While in a yawn he arises- knocking over objects, including several foreign beer cans off the adjacent table in which he used to rest his right leg. Amongst the objects which hits the floor is a M93R; an automatic pistol which was carried along with the identification card which eclipses it a second later. In bold letter, it reads:

_ "Central Intelligence Agency, Internal Affairs: 'John Smith.'"_

With tired and delusional hands- the man in buff picks up his belongings. After months of training on the 'Farm', all the tactical handling with the fire arms, and even with the Agency's policy of keeping at least one weapon at your side at all times; life was dull and frustrating for paper-pushing John. There was a yarn for greater goal, a higher purpose. Sliding his right hand over his head, the Agent casually flickers the block of raven black hair to the side; allowing the blue eyes to adjust to the light. Just through the window were a dozen flags, hanging with the stupid little yellow ribbons while portraying the colors of Uncle Sam.

_ "The White House has declared that the possession of weapons of…….."_

For some unfathomed reason, he felt the tugs of rebellion whenever he saw those colors. It was an irrational feeling; after all- he works for Uncle Sam. If any psychological tests revealed treasonous traits, the results would be disastrous; Smith would be royally fucked. The feeling was a primitive impulse; he disliked other people's patriotic behavior for he feared them. He loathed that behind all the patriotism, there was nothing but a vacuum in which life existed without true meaning. It was only through this lie of doing something greater for society which kept him going. Yet the feeling lingered, it was an impulse to satisfy his dissatisfaction with the absurd nationalism which was rampant just a few steps outside of the door to his left.

"If only they knew of the work we do."  
If only people looked..."

Placing rough hands over his eye lids, John allows darkness to consume his vision and thoughts. A flashback of old reports invades his mind's eye. Upon closer inspection, a dozen outlandish reports begin to reveal a dozen international treaties being hampered.  
Everything from conspiring actions of aggression, to the selling of biological weapons to rogue factions was there. Though they were briefly mentioned in the text books of times past, many people stayed ignorant of these subjects.

"It's up the few of us, to protect them from everyone else and themselves..."

Lifting his chin up, he quietly walks into his empty bed room and gets dressed. The semi-casual business suit was in order, after all- this dress code at the Agency's offices demanded utmost profession in every manner of business; except for the business of covert operations and assassinations of course. Fixing up the collar, Smith slides into the kitchen for a quick bite before going off to work.


	2. Chapter 2

Leaning forward for the retina scanner, a soft crimson laser hums to life. It pierces through a sea of blue, threatening to smear bloody red onto the windows of the soul. Less than a second later it was all over. With the last of the check-in procedures completed, Smith could finally board the elevator into the oblivion where his office laid. The path to work everyday was repetitive, and the lack of human contact made the job all the more displaced. From here on out, the boys in the security department would be watching his every move. Such was the ways of the Agency: a displaced, controlled, artificial, environment- designed to manufacture the control of order in a chaotic world.

Platinum hair waves against artificial light as the elevator doors chimed open. An extremely athletic female figure turns around as her long beautiful hair, and equally slender legs come into view. She was a vixen dressed to kill. _Literally_. A form-fitting battle dress uniform decked the body of this woman, there were a dozen pouches aligned with her waist and chest- no doubt holding spare magazines for the M4 which she had shouldered upon her thin frame. Her desirable face supported exotically-controlled eyes which held a stern expression.

John steps in quietly in a nearly timid manner. It was obvious that the woman was apart of the security services branches. They were usually here under two circumstances: to give support on important missions- or to investigate traitorous activity. With the consent of the leaders who the common people elected, they were free to purge as they deemed necessary. Smith swallowed hard, and was thankful that the research departments have not come up with a way to read people's minds with a television screen or some other wacky gadgets.

"Don't be scared."

Her emerald eyes shifts towards his direction.

"I don't bite, unless you give me a reason to." This femme fatale didn't need to read minds."I'm sure." was the only pitiful response that came from Smith."Of course you are."

Softly taking a seductive step forward, the darkly dressed angel of death places a hand on his chest. For that brief second absolute control was in her hands. Images of the past suddenly intrude into his conscious mind. Her touch brings back bitter pictures of a faithless love that was once there for him. Taking advance of that instance disconnection the vixen slides under his tie and onto the weapon holster under the jacket. A second later, she points the automatic handgun into his face- snapping him back into reality.

_"Nice gun."_ she comments seductively.

Raising the M9R3 up into the air, she twirls it around her fingers twice before clicking the ejection button. The cold metal clip which housed the 9mm rounds slides out of the weapon and threatened to smash into the ground. Only with quick reflexes does Smith catch it. Not bothering with such small matters, the woman shrugs and cocks the slides of the weapon. Grease and metal shifts against each other until a click echoes throughout the small compartment. A round from the gun ejects from the chamber and bounces into the air. It twirls and twirls, sliding against the wind coming from the air-conditioning device, before the elevator doors quickly slides open again with a 'ding'.

Somebody else from behind Smith catches the bullet with precise fingers. Smiling sinisterly she pushes John out of the elevator and into the offices of Internal Affairs, also known as the ministry of 'peace'. Like a cruel angel she gives him a wink and waves him bye with his own gun.

"I'll catch you later."


	3. Chapter 3

The elevator doors closes and like that she was gone."Beware of O'Brian."

The warning came from a cheerful, nearly musical voice from behind the still-stunned Agent. Turning around, Smith finds himself looking into the cute wide eyes of Julie Lee Emery. Of medium height and statue, the cheerful little girl was one of the many paper pushers in the intelligence analyzing department. Under normal circumstances, one would have suspected that little Emery with her brown hair and always happy attitude to be an honor student at Yale due to her intelligent philosophical nature.

"You dropped this?"

She holds up the ejected round from his stolen handgun.

"Keep it. Mrs. Val Victorian"

Straightening up his tie, and tugging his collar back into place- Winston storms off towards the little cubical in which paperwork was done. His daily tasks usually consisted of storing old reports, or filling in new reports himself. Once in awhile there would be field work. For all the guise of protecting freedom, these were almost always shady and consisted of either spying or shooting PSG1 rounds from windows.

"Gee, what's _your_ major dysfunction?" murmurs Julie as she tags behind him. Due to the fact that nearly everyone was impersonal at work John found Emery to be a suitable companion, despite the fact that he sometimes neglects her. Right now at this second the only thing on his mind was the recover of his handgun, internal impulses dictated that everything was secondary.

"You can't take on the whole world."

Working together for such a long time, she knows how he operates.

"Stop being so irrational John. A security service doesn't give a rat's ass about-"

"I know." He had to cut her off, and he did it swiftly."

"But I can't just let somebody, even a woman push me around."

"Is this your way of finding order in your life?" John turns around and looks into her blinking eyes. The two never dated, or had any romantic affairs though he certainly liked her. But many a times they shared deep conversations about the existence of humanity. Though John sees her as an equal in the Agency, he certainly respected her ability to decode and understand him in high regards.

"You won't find any meaning in this existence through confrontation."

"You can't continue to fill the vacuum with punitive-at-the second impulses."

"Enough!" Smith shouted. Many eyes from their colleagues were upon them.

"Besides, Elizabeth O'Brian would simply just kill you."

Before John could even retort, the speakers went off.

_"Attention: security breech at sector nine, level eleven. Attention----------"_

**-BANG-**


	4. Chapter 4

Somebody smashed into Smith, knocking him over. Falling to the ground, he hits the floor and bumps his head onto a wall. To his right was a bewildered man; there was something oddly familiar with him. He had hair which was combed in one direction, a pointy nose- and a squared mustached. It was Clarington, the director of this facility.

"John, are you alright?"

Emery got on one knee and offered the fallen man a hand.

"What does it look like…? And- Sir, sorry for standing in your way…"

There was a look of deep urgency in the eyes of the director.

"This is no time for chitchat." He spat, cutting both the other agents into silence.

"Report of Post Nine Point Eleven." A small mini-disc was produced.

"Get it to the computer labs, room number 101.

_"Those bastards will be here soon."_

With that said, everything went to hell.

From the far corners of the office complex a holy-looking light beamed forward. Eyes were suddenly blinded, as flesh was seared. Paper and ash blew about all around, like a whirlwind. The very atmosphere of the facility was set ablaze, taking a nearly full three seconds before the fire extinguishing systems came on. The lights flickered off, as darkness descended. All around them, the proud workers of the intelligence agency found themselves not stirred, but profoundly shaken.

There was an echo of thunder in the darkness.

"Alpha team is within position."

It was the soft click of radios, and chatter amongst professional soldiers.

_"All fire arms, freed. Taking point."_-"Targets spotted."-"**_Fire at will_**."

The sound of hammers smashing into the ground at a rate of a thousand times per second set the room ablaze. Smith found himself behind a wall, with bleeding Emery clutched in his arms. Panic shot through his mind; had the security services caught on to his thought patterns? Impossible; they wouldn't cause this much damage to get to a thought criminal. Was it the terrorists? Somehow, that too seems unlikely. Wiping a smear of blood off Julie's face, John steals a glance around the corner.  
Like demons from hell, they wore infrared goggles which blazed away at night. Faceless and relentless with the gasmasks, they fired at will at the defenseless workers of the office complex. Though handguns were use for retaliation, they were useless against the automatic chatter which mowed them down.

"So much for a dull day at the office..."

Shaking Emery, he attempts to wake her. There was no response coming from the shallow breathing girl. Fearing the worse, the Agent undoes his tie and wraps it around his colleague's bleeding wound. Finishing up, with a gentle push she disappears into underneath a table. There wasn't much he could do at the second. Picking the disc up from his dead boss, Smith makes a mad dash towards the exit in front of him. The bullets do not think twice, as they give chase. Ducking under a table, and getting on all fours- he crawls his way near the emergency staircase. Before he was able to get up, and make one final dash; a file cabinet next to him explodes. Once more, paper arises into the sky. Out of the chaos and under fire he presses forward. Knocking the door of its hinges, it smashes into a recon team of the assaulters. The impact knocks one of the two combatants off a railing, where by sheer luck he hangs on with one hand. Below him, a sea of darkness awaits to engulf souls. Lifting his head up, Smith slides his right leg forward placing one palm forward- while another fist prepared next to it. Under normal circumstances, this art of close quarter combat required a knife and a firearm. But these weren't normal circumstances.


	5. Chapter 5

The heavily arm soldier smashes the stock of his gun onto his body, as he cocked the slide to the XM-8 rifle he had readied. Before the trigger could have been pressed, Smith lunges forward and with his palm pushes the rifle upward. The skies lit up, as the soldier fired in surprise. Turning his right side forward, the Agent brings the fist before his own face as he slams the front side of his elbow into the face of the armed combatant. The right leg goes up as the knee pad connects with the crotch. Taking advantage of his stunned foe, John forces the weapon out of his hand and onto his own. With the sound of the cocking mechanism echoing throughout the staircase platform, paper pushing John points the barrel of the weapon into the attacker's face.

"No, please don't---"

The sounds of a 7.62 round can be heard smashing into flesh and skull. Blood is splashed against the wall, as the body slumps over the railing; dragging his colleague who was hanging on for dear life into the darkness.

Up and about, over the gray concrete and the dark railing, was the last flight of stairs. Twenty floors on top of the ministry of peace, there better be a reason for all the grueling exercise. Thoughts of his current objective echoed through the dark corners of his mind. The questions of existence, and meaningful purpose decked the cognitive gears within the head. Emery was certainly right about his impulse to substitute his lack of connection to meaning with the objectives of his current state of mind. Such was the nature of being sentient, to seek a higher purpose of life; despite the doubts of one. But what else was there to do? Give up on life?

As Smith pondered this question, while opening the emergency door to the floor of his objective- everything about the thoughts of giving up on life disappeared from his mind. Before him was the sleek silver coating of a might vessel. Light bounced off it, as several machine guns and rockets can be seen. There was even a 'Marine' symbol upon it as well. It menacing turns towards the weary John Smith.

"You've got to be shitting me."

Glass and concrete exploded as the automatic chatter of the mini-gun smashes the windows. Running for his life, the Agent doesn't even spare a glance behind him. All around, time seemed to have slowed down as the .50 caliber rounds make dust out of furniture. In front of him was Room 101, sanctuary at last. Thrusting his left leg forward, as his right leg propels him- the Agent smashes into the room. Suddenly everything was silent again.

"Huff.. Huff... Bastards... Throwing kitchen… sink... At us..."

A computer system with a large liquid plasma panel caught his eyes. A few buttons were pressed, as a disc reader came out. Placing the mini-disc into the tray and pushing it back in, a PDF file comes up. With the click of a mouse, the world that housed Smith shattered.


	6. Chapter 6

**Post Nine Eleven Report: Report # 9  
**  
Operations on X-Day a success, the following targets were hit: Cruise missile attack on the pentagon completed. Cuban freedom fighters were used for the suicide assault on the Twin Towers. Funds will be rerouted to the exiles. British fleet in the Middle East has been rerouted under the directions of sector nine.

**Transmission End.**

  
"What the fuck…?" Slamming his fists onto the keyboard, John wasn't sure if he was pissed at this revelation, or the fact that he risked his life for it. It did however, shattered the Agent's purpose within life. He originally joined up with the CIA for the purpose of safeguard the American people from the harms of themselves and the nations around them. Yet he loathed their ignorance of all which was around them, though every questionable deed was for them. It at least gave him purpose. But now he had none, everything was now as meaningless as serving as the intelligence agency.

"Don't tread too much on it, dear."

The distinct clicking sound of an automatic handgun pecked his ears.

"Turn around slowly."

Smith had no choice but to obey. But as he did, the platinum haired vixen in the security suit clicked a button on her utility belt. An echo of crimson light twirls around her body, as the very image of this deceiving angel changes.

"Long time no see, Smith."

"Nina." The holographic image around her fades with a sparkling flicker. The security services uniform transforms into the urban combat uniform of the invaders. Nothing but shock registers in Smith's eyes as his ex appears in the flesh. Her Asian eyes lock onto hers, the devilish smirk still upon her face.

"You haven't changed one bit." She comments with a cool tone.

"And he doesn't need to." Nina grins as the barrel of a revolver touches her face. With shaky fingers, Emery aggressively aims with her remaining strength.

"What are you really after?" Smith narrows his eyes, but doesn't dare to take the gun away from her.

"The restoration of the period when warriors such as us, lived as we should."

"That's insane." Julie spat, her eyes wide with determination.

"I won't let you, Nina." Turning around, he reroutes the report onto a torrent.

"Jonathan, my dear- why must you continue to fight?"

"Because he truly believes that there is something worthy to fight for?"

"What? What is there to fight for? The people? They don't care. They don't even care for history. This country was built on the backs of oppression, so don't you dare say to fight for freedom. Don't you dare say you fight for justice; the very intelligence agency you work supports dictators. All this information can be found on simple websites, such as an online encyclopedia like Wikipedia. But nobody cares, everyone stays ignorant. "

Blinking once, Smith contemplates his fate. What had he been fighting for all along? The crusade against ignorance…everything snapped into place.

"I'm fighting for what is morally right. Without it, society can't be healthy."

"What the hell are you talking-"In a state of shock, her head ceases to exist. Blood and flesh can be seen clinging onto Agent Smith's uniform. Dusting himself off, he moves the wireless mouse onto the send button. Emery drops to the ground in disbelief, her revolver still smoking lays on the floor.

"John… what are we going to do now?"

The bloody man wipes a dash of crimson from his forehead. Leaning over, he picks up his M93R and turns the safety back on.

"Hope that somebody out there has enough courage to look at the other side of things. And to question the morality of the government which is elected by the people. After all, if we placed them into power. We have at least the obligation to understand what they are doing."


End file.
